


Assassins' Archive

by Kiatheinsomniac



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiatheinsomniac/pseuds/Kiatheinsomniac
Summary: Welcome to the archive! A collection of reader x assassin oneshots I've written both in the past and recently. Enjoy!
Relationships: Arno Dorian/Reader, Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Reader, Jacob Frye/Reader
Kudos: 14





	1. Lifetimes (Arno)

Cries from the crowd filled the air as revolutionists rioted outside Notre Dame. The Tricolore flew high above the swarm of citizens while a woman captured them from the rooftops.

Her (s/t) hands were smothered in all colours of paint as she worked quickly on her A3 canvas; at some times spreading the oil paints with her fingertips while others she would add fine detail with delicate strokes of brushes.

She had been watching the sky all day and thankfully, unlike the British weather she was accustomed to, the sky showed no signs of upcoming rainfall.

Stepping back from the painting that she had laboured over for hours, the (h/c) haired female smiled at her work. Artistry was only a side job - and proved to be of great use when needing to infiltrate areas during her main occupation - yet she was brilliant at it. Making her learn how to work with oil paints was one of the few things (Y/n) was able to thank her father for. Removing the canvas from its easel and placing it flat on the roof to dry better, the female sat down beside it, watching the revolutionists she had painted. Few paraded heads on pikes while others were armed with whatever they could use as weapons. In some places, furniture was piled up from past conflicts where it had acted as barricades against bullets.

Laying down on her back, the (h/c) haired female pulled up her piqued hood - this was connected to a faded juniper green cloak with golden embroidery. A juniper dyed leather corset hugged her (b/t) waist and remained held together by gold toggle buttons on chains. Her coat parted into two tails at the back and was lined with creme American-burlesque ruffles along the edges of the tails, front and bottom of the shorter open skirt at the top of the cloak. Drapes of the same faded juniper fabric began at her collar then met at her back, running along her exposed (s/t) shoulders - revealed by fashioned holes - these too were lined with the creme ruffles. Golden embroidery accented the hood and cuffs of her currently rolled up sleeves.

Beneath her cloak, she wore a light grey drawstring blouse, held up by leather buckle straps and lined at the top of her breasts with ruffles, exposing a little cleavage and the top of her undershirt. Worn leather drawstring chords tightened the shirt's light grey fabric around her chest, ending in tied bows on each of her upper arms below her bare shoulders. Upon this blouse was a dark juniper green corset with gold eyelets, woven together with a light brown leather cord was hidden under her cloak too; her iron reinforced corset was to serve as light armour and to prevent her from looking plain more than it was to shape her naturally curved waist. Thus, it was only tight enough to keep the accessory on, not enough that it prevented any movement. Grey trousers covered her (b/t) legs. Upon these trousers was a thick brown leather belt holstering two pistols and an English forged sword. Brown leather knee-high boots, with stubby heels, covered her feet.

Using her hood to block the sun from her eyes, the (s/t)-skinned twenty-year-old let out a satisfied sigh as she allowed herself to rest while she waited for the paint to dry.

_____

The (e/c) eyed female was startled awake when gunshots sounded from the rioting crowd. Rubbing her sleep-hazed eyes, (Y/n) crouched low as she peered down at the revolutionists, not wanting to look like a sniper from the rooftops. The crowd had almost doubled in size.

Guards were left with no choice but to shoot at the civilians who, by the looks of things, had already killed one of the men in blue. Looking down at her painting, she gently dabbed her fingers, covered in dry paint, against it. The artwork was dry. Now, for one final detail. Selecting a large, feather-cut brush in her fingertips, she dipped it in diluted white paint before writing across the canvas in bold letters:

'VIVE LA RÉVOLTUION'

Smiling down at her oil painting, she picked it up carefully in her hands, assuring the paint would not drip first, she elegantly walked along the rooftops until she could easily slide down a wagon that was currently not in use. Heading down familiar paths, she found herself at the doors of the cafe théâtre where she lived. Greeting the previous owner on her way through, she made her way upstairs and to her shared room.

Placing the painting down on the floor so that it was propped against a wall, she smiled down at the piece once more, proud of her hard work.

Her ears picked up on a crash from the loft, followed by muffled curses. Giggling to herself quietly, she hoisted herself up the ladder at the end of her shared bed. There, she found a male in blue assassin robes, trapped beneath a coat rack.

"Need a hand, Arno?" She spoke. The brown-eyed male gave her a soft smile before she pulled the rack off him, balancing it upright once more. Humming as he drew himself nearer to the female, he pulled her close by the hips, nuzzling his nose against the crook of her neck, earning a slight giggle from the (s/t)-skinned female as she snaked her arms behind his neck.

"Where have you been all day?" He smiled against her flesh, happy to have her in his arms, leaning away from him, a joyous smile painted her (b/t) lips as she smiled up at the male who stood a head taller than her.

"Why don't I show you?" She beamed, sliding her hand down his arm until she could interlace her colourful fingers with his, pulling him down to the lower floor of the room. Once off the ladder, (Y/n) covered Arno's eyes childishly before leading him over to where her oil painting rested. Slowly prying her fingers away from his hazel orbs, she revealed the painting to him as her hands moved to rest on his shoulders, watching his expression change to one of awe as his eyes scanned over every detail of the painting for at least a minute.

"You amaze me once more, ma chéri." He smiled down at her, pulling her in front of him so he could wrap his arms around the artist's waist while he admired her work. His last two words earned a flush of heat from the (e/c) eyed assassin's cheeks. Noticing this he chuckled at her ever so slightly, turning her in his arms so he could gaze down at the pink dusting (s/t) cheeks. "What?" He questioned with a smirk.

"I just think that 'ma chéri' sounds so much more romantic in French than in English," She began, averting her gaze shyly, "we just say 'my darling' which I find to be no match." Arno pulled the shorter female closer, placing a soft kiss on the centre of her forehead.

"And I happen to think that you sound charming when you speak English." He smiled, pulling her closer. Blushing more at the compliment, she buried her face in his chest only to be swept off her feet seconds later. Letting out a surprised gasp before giggling at her own reaction, she found herself to now be laid beside the male on their shared bed.

"If only my father could have thought the way you do about my French. Even my accent I had up until the age of nine made him furious. . ." She trailed off. Shushing (Y/n) and placing a finger to her (b/t) lips, Arno looked into her (e/c) orbs with a warmth in his own coca ones.

"Whatever he may have thought about you never mattered nor will it ever so let's not talk about him." Arno hushed the woman beside him, knowing that a conversation of the cruel man would almost certainly bring (Y/n) to tears. "Now, why paint revolutionists?" He asked, "Just a question of curiosity, by the way, not criticism."

"I feel that this revolution shall alter the path of history forever, Arno." She hummed, snaking her hand onto his chest as she hooked her left leg over his waist, nuzzling his face against him as his left hand gently ran over the top of her head in a soothing motion, "Something within me tells me that this will have somewhat of an international impact and will affect society for centuries to come." She watched her left hand - smeared in reds, whites, blues, greens, greys, beiges, browns and so many other hues - trace circles onto his chest, "I suppose I wanted to document such a grand revolution in my own way." She spoke as she relaxed against him.

"And bathe in your paints while you did so?" He jested, picking up her left hand by the wrist to examine all the colours smeared across her usually porcelain skin.

"Hush, you." She chuckled, "I was in the moment." Smiling into him, she took in his scent while he moved his left arm so that it was wrapped firmly around her waist. Sitting upwards, he pulled her (b/t) figure onto his lap.

"You even managed to get it in your hair." He spoke, picking up her french braid and pointing to one of its stitches that was dusted with blue; now clumped together and crisp.

"I'll wash it off later." She waved his hands away before wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning her head against his shoulder and humming against his skin, "For now, I want to enjoy this moment with you. . ." She spoke. Wrapping his arms around (Y/n)'s (b/t) waist, his nose brushed against her shoulder as he smirked against her exposed skin.

"Are you just avoiding having a bath again, (Y/n)?"He spoke to her as though she were a young girl and not a young woman.

"I haven't the slightest clue as to what you are talking about, Monsieur Dorian." She pulled away from him, biting her lower lip in a failing attempt to hide her smirk as a childlike glimmer of mischief lit a spark in her (e/c) eyes. She slowly began pulling herself from his lap before he realised what she was doing. Pouncing forwards to catch his lover, Arno found himself landing back on the mattress as she rolled to her left and landed on the floor, springing to her feet before running to the balcony.

"(Y/n)." He spoke in a warning tone, sending delicious shivers down her spine as she neared the doorway. Arno slowly got to his feet as they countered the other's movements.

"If you can catch me before the sun begins to set, I'll bathe tonight. If not, I get to sleep without soaked hair." She smirked before throwing herself out the door, Arno raced after his lover. Bounding upon the rail, she pushed herself off to grip the rooftop of the building beside their home. Running along the roof, she blinked her eyes slowly to activate her eagle vision, sensing Arno's movements a good ten meters behind her as though each step of his sent ripples through water.

Returning her vision back to normal, (Y/n) leapt from roof to roof, turning a corner and dropping to the pavements before throwing herself into a passing wagon full of hay. Peering out of the stack. She spotted the familiar blue robes of Arno as he scanned the area. Reaching out the opposite side of the wagon so she was not exposing herself to Arno and ruining her chase, (Y/n) ducked under the driver's senses to grab a lower part of the reins and flick them hard.

The mare broke off into a faster speed down the streets. The (s/t)-skinned assassin smirked in victory as she peered out of the hay to her lover. His eyes raked his surroundings, clearly he was utilising his eagle vision, however, the artist's stunt meant she had escaped the perimeter of his second sight. Giggling to herself, she leapt out of the wagon and scaled the closest building.

Now, all she needed was a comfortable hiding spot until sundown.

————-

The half-French-half-English assassin had found a secure hiding spot upon the support beams at the ceiling of the underside of a bridge. Growing bored of sitting in one place, she pulled herself onto the surface of the bridge and wandered the markets, staying close to crowds in order to blend in. It was unlikely that Arno would find her though, after all, for all he knew she could be anywhere in Paris.

Eyeing up a set of paintbrushes, despite the fact she was in no need of any new ones, (Y/n)'s ears picked up on the sound of someone sliding across the floor before she looked down to her right, seeing Arno within a foot of her. Jumping backwards, the mischievous young woman attempted to make a getaway before strong arms locked around her waist.

"You've made me search all of Paris for you, Chérie," The brown haired male whispered into her ear in a husky and seductive tone. (Y/n) felt a shiver run down her spine as his lips brushed against her ear ever so slightly.

"I knew I shouldn't have got out from under that bridge." The (e/c) eyed female sighed, earning a huff from her lover which quickly turned into a chuckle.

"You were hiding under a bridge?" He raised a brow and she turned to face him.

"Don't laugh, it worked for an hour or so until I grew bored." She crossed her arms and took a step away only to find Arno wrapping his left arm around her waist.

"We had a bet, I believe." He spoke, taking her right wrist in his right hand, "How did you even manage to get this much paint on you?" He poked her side teasingly.

"Like I told you earlier: I was in the moment. It's artist stuff, you wouldn't get it." She gave him a cheeky sidelong glance.

"I think I can compare though," He began in a sly tone, "I often find myself getting lost in the moment with you." This earned him a light elbow to the stomach.

"Shut your mouth, we're in public." (Y/n) rolled her eyes, though, she could not hide the growing blush on her cheeks. "I have to be up early tomorrow, the heads of the Brotherhood have a task for me." The (h/c) haired female added with a sigh, wishing she could sleep more the next morning.

"Working undercover again?" He spoke, his voice quieter. (Y/n) hummed as she nodded her head, looking straight ahead.

"Don't get me wrong, I actually love my job. . . I just don't like the people." The (s/t)-skinned female pinched the bridge of her nose, "Especially the men I have to paint; the second they see a woman in a dress they're all over her but I'm fine walking around in my trousers like this; at least I get to put an end to them. And don't even get me started on all those heavy dresses! How is a woman even supposed to stay cool, let alone run, in so many layers? It's awful, Arno." She ranted.

"At least you look wonderful in that dress of yours." He noted, earning a soft smile from his lover.

She looked up at him with her (e/c) eyes, "Yes, but you're in love with me so I'm sure you think I would look wonderful in anything."

"Or nothing at all." He added with a smirk before finding an elbow at his chest once more.

"What did I say?" A flushed (Y/n) snapped, embarrassed, "You're bloody lucky I love you." She spoke the last phrase in English.

"As charming as you sound when you speak other languages, it probably would not be smart to speak English in public, ma chéri; with France helping America against Britain, that is." The male assassin spoke up.

"Good point." (Y/n) nodded her head of (h/c) tresses as she switched back to French.

The couple soon found themselves back at the café theatre. (Y/n) had attempted to make a dash into the nearest crowd before she crossed the threshold, only to find strong arms around her waist and her feet being lifted off the floor. The (s/t)-skinned female was thrown over Arno's shoulder, squealing as she attempted to escape his grip without falling face-first onto the floor. His grip on her only tightened as she tried to get back on her feet, making (Y/n) give up. Reaching their shared room, Arno childishly threw her onto the bed, falling down onto her as he did so; trapping her (b/t) figure between his arms which rested on the mattress on either side of her head.

"Stay here," He spoke as he leaned down so his lips brushed against her ear, "you'll find out what will happen if you don't." He whispered, sending a shiver of delight through the female.

"Oh, but Arno," She whined, "I'm a curious person! You can't say that! It only makes me want to disobey you so that I can find out what you have in mind." He smirked against her skin and pulled away, looking down at the frowning female.

"Just listen to me this time, ok?" He spoke before leaving the room. The (e/c) eyed female huffed as she sat up, crossing her arms and legs before a mischievous smile painted her lips and she slowly moved to place one foot on the floor, "Don't even think about it, (Y/n) (L/n)!" Arno's voice called from the next room over. Freezing where she was, the female let out a sigh before sitting back down cross-legged. She looked down at her paint-splattered french braid and colourful hands. Pulling on the small chord keeping her braid together, (s/t) ran her fingers through it, allowing her (h/l)-length locks to hang loosely with her fringe (a collection of uneven locks of hair, that hung to her collarbones, which had been cropped in fights). Fumbling with the ivory toggle buttons at her waist, she unfastened her cloak, shrugging it off and letting it fall around her back.

Ten minutes later, Arno came back into the room.

"I've run you a bath, now go get all that paint off you." He smiled, pecking her lips as she walked past him. The male let out a small hum at seeing his lover with her hair down; a rare but beautiful sight.

Entering the bathroom, (Y/n) did indeed find a warm bath full of bubbles. Smiling at the sight, she unwove the chords on her corset, allowing it to fall to the floor before she worked on untying and unbuckling her blouse. Unfastening her belt, she let that drop too along with removing her boots and taking off her trousers. Removing her pants and undershirt, she placed all her clothing on a chair before submerging herself in the warm water. Washing and rinsing her hair, she scrubbed at her skin to remove all the paint, turning the water a diluted murky grey. Finally washing the rest of her body, the woman laid her head back, her (s/t) skin concealed by the bubbles in the water. She allowed her mind to wander as she relaxed, allowing any previous stress to melt away as she settled into her relaxing moment.

"Taking your time, aren't you, mon amour?" A male voice spoke up from the doorway, (Y/n) looked over her shoulder to meet Arno's eyes. He had removed his blue assassin cloak and now stood in a simpler pair of shoes with his white lace-cuffed shirt and darker trousers. One of his sleeves was rolled up while the other was down, causing (Y/n) to smile at him.

"You took your time to prepare this for me, did you not?" She replied as she settled into the water more, trusting the bubbles to keep her form concealed. Arno sat on the chair behind her, his fingers running along her prominent collarbones.

"Indeed, but it's getting late, you need your rest for tomorrow. . ." He placed a kiss on her forehead as she looked up at him, his figure was upside down from the angle she was looking at. 

"Alright." She smiled up at him, "I'll get out once you're gone." She spoke. Arno nodded his head before walking out. (Y/n) was always rather frigid when it came to Arno seeing too much of her skin. Though, he understood why she found it difficult to involve herself in sexual relationships after her marriage that had been forced by her father's hand and her much older husband. It pained him to picture a younger (Y/n) being abused by a man so much older than her yet at the same time, it sparked an anger in him, how could anyone do such a thing to a young and innocent girl? Especially if that girl was the woman who grew up to be the male assassin's lover.

(Y/n) stepped out only in her undergarments (a sleeveless undershirt and her pants); that was her limit of how much of herself she was willing to expose without growing uncomfortable. Holding her wrist and pulling the (h/c) haired female closer, he picked her up bridal style. She must have dedicated a while to rubbing her hair with a towel because now it was only damp and not soaked.

"After all that chasing, you enjoyed your bath anyway." He teased as he collapsed onto the bed, (Y/n) landing on him.

"The only thing I wasn't looking forward to was my hair getting wet; it's much longer and thicker than yours so it takes longer." She sighed as she buried her face into his chest, taking on a comfortable position so she could lay down and cuddle up to the brown haired male at the same time. Kicking his shoes off and blowing out the candle on the bedside, Arno pulled the sheets over himself and the half-French-half-English female who huddled up to him. She tilted her head up so he was able to peck her lips softly, pulling her closer by the hips as she pressed herself against him, their breaths mingling. "Je t'aime, Arno." She spoke in a soft tone as her nose grazed over his cheek, her hands slipping under his shirt to run along the skin of his stomach.

"I still have to ask myself every day what good thing I did to deserve you in my life, let alone in my bed." He smiled as he spoke in a hushed tone. (Y/n) pressed her forehead to his chest, a fleet of butterflies set loose in her stomach at the simple comment.

"As do I, Arno." She smiled as he set his chin on her head, the slight stubble of his beard scraping against her gently. She moved ever so slightly away from him, "Now, what would you have done had I moved from where you told me to stay earlier?" She whispered, her childlike curiosity taking over her. Arno smirked yet his brown eyes remained closed as (Y/n) pulled away from him to gaze down at his figure.

"What would I have done?" He repeated before cracking his eyes open. A hand ran up (Y/n)'s arm until it wrapped around her slim wrist, taking a tight grip on her. "I would have trapped your arms above your head like this." He began, smirking as he rolled so he was half-leaning on her. His right hand took (Y/n)'s free arm, trapping her second wrist in his left hand with the other one, pressing her hands into the pillow that she rested her head on, "Leaned over you." He whispered as he pressed himself up onto his forearm which was on the mattress to (Y/n)'s left. "And made sure that beautiful face of yours flushed red." He said as he pressed his lips to hers. (Y/n) quickly found her eyes fluttering shut as she melted into the kiss, heat flooding her cheeks as she wrapped her left leg around him to pull the male down onto her. She had her boundaries, still, but Arno knew what she was and was not comfortable with. She trusted him not to push too far.

Letting out small pants between kisses, she found the brown-eyed male trailing kisses along her jaw before moving down to her neck. (Y/n) found herself letting out small hums of delight as his teeth nipped at her skin, leaving marks on her flesh. Freeing her hands of his grasp with her strength, she cupped the male's slightly stubbled face, bringing his lips back to her own ones as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Arno's teeth grazed her lower lip and she cheekily denied, refusing to part her lips. Growling against her flesh, the male's hands snaked down to her waist where he tightened his grip on her hips, hoisting up her thigh so it was wrapped firmly around him. Gasping at the sudden movement, (Y/n) realised her mistake as she had given in to Arno. His tongue danced with her own, pressing it down before exploring her mouth as though he wished to memorise it. The passionate kisses slowly died down to soft ones before they pulled away. Utter happiness flooded (Y/n)'s figure as she took a moment to be grateful for having the male as her lover. Pressing one more kiss to his lips, they resumed their previous position huddled up to one another.

"I love you, Arno. I love you so much." She breathed against him, uttering the words in English. She had said it enough times for him to know what it meant. Kissing the top of her head softly, the two fell asleep holding one another.

\---------

The nineteen-year-old young woman stood before the painting, her ebony locks fashioned into a feathery bun, with braids, at the back of her head. Her royal blue eyes filled with tears as she looked at the painting. She had been touring a French manor on a trip from England back to her other home country, France.

The young woman could remember the day she painted the riot; only she had not painted it as herself, Esme Wright, no, she had painted it as (Y/n) (L/n). Her heart shattered as she remembered the pain of the past life and the happiness of having Arno at her side. At the bottom of the golden frame was a plaque reading:  
'Vive La Révolution'   
'Unknown Artist'  
She collapsed to the floor of the almost empty hall, tears pouring from her eyes. She had never met Arno Dorian as herself and yet she had a lifetime of memories suddenly swarming her mind. One of the employees, an elderly woman in her early sixties, rubbed the female's shoulder soothingly.

"Believe it or not, you're the second person to be so influenced by this painting." She spoke as she gently took the younger woman's elbows, leading her back to her feet.

"(Y/n) (L/n). . ." Esme mumbled, tears trailing down her porcelain skin.

"Pardon dear?" The grey-haired lady questioned. Esme sniffled before composing herself.

"The artist who painted this in 1789 was named (Y/n) (L/n)." She repeated.

"(Y/n) painted many aristocrats, items and landscapes in her time but this was never documented as hers, dear." A gentleman in his mid-fifties spoke, coming to stand by this colleague, wondering what all the commotion was about. Esme shook her head.

"(Y/n) was an assassin, she painted the aristocrats before killing them, disguising herself as an artist made it easy to get to her targets undetected; sometimes she'd even wait out into their manors for a few days before killing them just to avert suspicion from herself. She painted other things for fun, to pass the time or as gifts for friends; she especially enjoyed painting for her lover. She painted this one because she felt the revolution would go down in history and influence today's society. She wanted to document it. This is hers." The older employees looked at one another.

"You know that man, don't you?" The male spoke up.

"What man?" Esme spoke up, confused, her brows furrowing.

"There was a man who came in here about a month and a half ago, after seeing the painting, he broke into tears like yourself and told us the same thing about the artist." He answered, "How would you know (Y/n) painted this anyway?" He questioned.

"The second I saw it, I was hit by a flood of memories. Too vivid to be a daydream and I have never seen this painting before to have actually dreamt all this. I-It's like a recollection of a past life."

"Then why did you cry if you had such a rare experience?" The woman quizzed.

"Because he's not in this life anymore. . . The man that (Y/n) loved to paint for - her lover. . . I've never met him but I miss him. . . I feel like I know him." Her eyes began to water once more.

"Tell you what dear," The lady began, smiling softly at Esme, "If you leave your contact information with the manor, we will call you if that man comes back. He might have experienced something similar to you." She spoke. Esme quickly wiped away the tears from her royal blue eyes.

"Thank you, I'd like that a lot." She smiled sadly.


	2. Him & I (M! Ezio)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm republishing some old works here chronologically. Forgive me if my writing style is very different here because this is 3/4 years old hahaha

Her basil green satin shorts hugged her (b/t) figure while her upper half was covered in a lace bralette. The young woman's (e/c) eyes were concealed behind (s/t) eyelids and thick inky eyelashes. Her (h/l) (h/c) were laid out behind her on her pillow as she rested her head on a bare muscular chest. Her thigh hooked over his waist a, her (s/t) skin meeting his tanned olive tone. The young man held the (b/t) woman close to him as they rested. He wore loose-fitting grey trousers and his hair was tied back into his signature low ponytail with red fabric. He laid on his back as he soothingly ran his right hand through the female's silky tresses.

The room was fairly dark and only illuminated by the soft rose pink light of the neon sign reading 'Amour' that hung above the headboard of the bed against her wall that was painted like roses on a frame. A warm breeze wandered the room through the open balcony doors, the white chiffon curtains dancing softly. His clothes had been laid over her desk chair while their shoes resided by the balcony door. Her dusty rose silk sheets were in a disarray around the two while notebooks, textbooks and a closed matte black laptop littered the bed. Djadja played quietly from the young woman's phone as she slowly ran her hand up and down the Italian male's toned chest. He rested his head against the top of hers, taking in the scent of cherries that enveloped her.

(Y/n) had done her best to convince Ezio that seeing him was important but he refused to let her go to his place if it meant she would not be studying for her end of year exams that would begin when she got off from half term. Therefore, she had managed to study for an additional four hours while Ezio sat behind the (h/c) haired young woman, holding her, playing with her hair, assisting her with her schoolwork and posting videos of the two of them on his Instagram and Snapchat. He had finished school last year and was taking a break for two years before going to college - he would work for one year then travel with his girlfriend the next until they could go back to studies at the same time.

However, there was one problem with him staying over while (Y/n) studied and their plan to travel together.

Alfred (L/n).

(Y/n)'s father.

He despised the relationship the two had as he held a grudge against Ezio Auditore himself. (Y/n)'s mother, Charlotte, was very supportive of the relationship (though, she made the consequences clear if her daughter's heart was broken); but, it was not her month to have (Y/n) so she would have no say in what would happen to the couple if the father caught them in her bedroom together.

Ezio had gained a reputation for being a bad boy and a player while (Y/n) was the timid kind that would rather immerse herself in an art store than go out to a party. 

It was an odd pairing but opposites attract, do they not?

Ezio had been intrigued by the (h/c) haired young woman the second he saw her. She looked and dressed like the type who was up for house parties and cigarettes yet she avoided crowds like the plague and gave a polite response in a quiet tone if anyone spoke to her.

"Nine more weeks and we can drive off to the nearest airport, baby." The young woman whispered as she traced circles onto her lover's olive skin. A soft smile graced her (s/t) lips.

Ezio's hands gently pulled her closer to his body by her hip as he hummed against her (h/c) tresses, a smile pulling at the corner of his scarred lip.

"I can't wait to see the world with you, Bella." He hummed as his hands moved from her hair to run circles into the (s/t) skin of her back. The (s/t)-skinned woman giggled quietly in excitement.

"Oh, you'll love Paris, Ezio." She sighed, recalling her travels she had been on due to her father's work, "Especially all of the lights at night and walking along the Seine. London's a bit rougher but I still love it. Oh! I'll have to take you to London Dungeons." She smiled against his chest before pressing a quick kiss to his skin. The young woman let out a small hum as she pressed herself further against him. "I love you, Ezio." She sighed softly.

"Ti amo, (Y/n)." He replied. The two would often share their affectionate words in other languages, for (Y/n) be it English or any other she could speak while Ezio always said he loved her in Italian. Though, as he enjoyed practising his English (and (Y/n) often expressed her love for his Italian accent), most of their conversations were in English.

The two held each other throughout the night as they slept.

—————

"(Y/n), you need to start getting up soon, your Russian tutor's going to be here soon." Her father's voice was muffled through the bedroom door thus its volume was unable to awake the two who were still sleeping at half nine, having stayed up late. (Y/n)'s father would be working in Russia next year so she was expected to learn the language (she could not care less, however, because her heart was set on next year being spent travelling with her boyfriend).

The (h/c) haired young woman slowly began stirring awake at the noise, letting out a hum as she rolled onto her side to cuddle up against her boyfriend who only half awoke due to her movement.

The sound of the door opening filled the room before a growl emitted from her father's throat.

"(Y/n) (M/n) (L/n)!" He bellowed, jolting the couple awake. "What have I told you?!" Her tired mind could barely register what was going on until her scenario forced her to realise the trouble she was in. Ezio seemed irritated by her father but not frightened or upset in any way, unlike his girlfriend who knew what she would be in for. "Get the hell out of my house and stay away from my daughter!" He yelled at the young man who had already sprung from the bed and was pulling on his white t-shirt. He quickly slipped on his trainers, grabbing his socks, jacket and jeans before walking past the (h/c) haired woman's father, pausing in the doorway to look back into her (e/c) eyes.

"Ti amo, (Y/n). Don't worry about anything, alright, bella?" He spoke.

"I love you, Ezio." With their affections shared, he turned to leave in order to get his car which was parked around the corner, out of her father's sight.

"How many goddamn times do I have to tell you?!" Her father turned back to face his daughter once he heard the front door open and slam shut. "He's no good for you! He's a piece of filth that just wants to fuck you then leave! Many of my friends' daughters thought they were special too. They all thought that they were the one he truly liked." He spoke in a mock tone, "But they were all wrong and you are too. I am most certainly not letting my daughter date a boy like him. You have exams coming up, you've got tuition to think about and I'm not going to let you drag him into my family! He doesn't like you, (Y/n). He likes women."

The young woman tightened her hands around her silk sheets, "And you'd be able to spot a boy like that, wouldn't you?!" She yelled, tears pricking her eyes, "Because you're everything you just listed and worse. You screwed mum and left her to raise me when money was tight for six bloody years until you thought you wanted to help out when we finally got close to hitting rock bottom. What kind of a father even are you?! Why did you even want shared custody when you never even talk to me about how things are?! About me?! Maybe if you actually took an interest in me as a person and not my grades, I would have been more open to you about my relationship with Ezio the way I am with mum. People change, father! And if you really think that you're not the man you were seventeen years ago when you left my mum alone to raise a daughter, then you know that people can change who they are. He has, father. He's not some heartbreaker anymore. He loves me." She yelled.

(Y/n)'s father stormed up to her, grabbing her firmly by the shoulders and shaking her. "Don't you dare act like I knew your mother was carrying you. If you weren't so useless as a person then maybe I would treat you like you're more than your grades because right now, that's all you've got going for you. You're a (L/n) so start acting like one." He hissed, shoving her backwards then swiping her phone and laptop before leaving her room, slamming the door.

"Get ready for your Russian tutor!" He bellowed as he went downstairs. The young woman's shoulders ached from where her father had grabbed her and she grabbed the silk blanket from her bed, wrapping it around her shaky figure before sliding down the corner wall, hugging her legs and crying a lot harder than she had in a long time.

—————

Two months had passed since then and (Y/n) was deciding what she would bring with her when she went to stay with her mother for a month in Paris. Her exams were finished and she was awaiting her grades back. It felt surreal to have finished her schooling. Music played softly from her stereo, the feminine voice dancing throughout her room.

'But she's only into me. . .'

Crickets chirped outside of her Italian home as she began thinking about her father's house back in England. He was spending a lot of time in Italy for business reasons and they would have to go to Russia after returning back to England for a while.

(Y/n) had to travel a lot when she was with her father.

'Cause she's a heartbreaker and she knows it.'

(Y/n) had no way of contacting Ezio after her phone and laptop had been taken from her but he had not returned to her home due to the risk of her father finding out. Her thoughts had got the better of her and she assumed that she really had just been a small aspect of his life and now he was laid in some other girl's bed, telling her all the same things that he had whispered in (Y/n)'s ears and all the other girls before her.

'She tries to hide it but she can't help but show it.'

She wore a dusty rose silk kimono-like robe on top of a black lace bralette and black velvet shorts. Her (h/c) hair was fashioned into a bun that would leave her tresses in curls when she woke up and her face was clean of makeup.

'Yeah, she's a heartbreaker and she loves it.'

Headlights of a car illuminated the room and she assumed it to be one of the neighbours parking on their drive. However, the engine continued to run and the headlights stayed on her bedroom walls. 

Curious, the (s/t)-skinned young woman stepped onto her balcony, seeing the familiar sleek black car.

'And she ain't ever gonna change. . .'

(Y/n)'s eyes were brought to life and filled with the glimmer of a thousand diamonds as she saw the male leaning against the front bonnet, cigarette in his hand.

'She will always be this way.'

A gasp left her lips as she ran back inside, ejecting the CD to prevent the noise from travelling through the house for when she opened the door. Throwing on the first pair of shoes she could find - a white pair of vans - she sprinted out the door and into his arms. The smell of cologne and tobacco clung to him.

She had never been fond of his smoking habits but at this moment she could not care less. Chuckling at her reaction, Ezio laced his hands over her hips, pulling her closer to his figure as he snaked his hands around her lower back. Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers tangling in his soft long hair as she pressed herself against him.

The young woman pulled away slightly to rest her right palm against his neck, her thumb stroking his jaw to make sure this was not another one of her dreams. Feeling the slight stubble under her fingertips and the warmth of his body, she smiled softly before crashing her lips against his in a spark of passion. The two slowly moved against each other until they parted. (E/c) met warm brown as they gazed into each other's eyes, (Y/n) having to tilt her head up seeing as Ezio stood a whole head taller than her.

"You came back." She breathed, resting her forehead against his chest as he ran his hands from her hips to her sides repetitively.

"(Y/n)," He began, "As much as I hate to say it aloud because I was a fool for thinking it would be easy. . . For the first few weeks of our relationship, I just planned to have my fun with you and leave. But I couldn't find anyone else that could even come close to you. You were different from everyone else and over time I realised that my sweet nothings were really genuine love for you. I'm sorry that I didn't come back sooner. I've been working a lot and it was too risky with your father being around." He spoke as he dropped the remains of his cigarette, putting it out with his foot. "But I'm in love with you and I came back as soon as I could."

"Well, better late than never, right?" The (s/t)-skinned woman smiled softly as she placed one more slow and long kiss to his lips, just happy to be back in his arms. Ezio held her tightly as he smiled against the top of her head.

"Drive away with me, bella." He spoke, holding her so he could look down into her (e/c) eyes.

"Where to?" (Y/n) breathed out, willing to go anywhere with him.

"Come to stay at my villa for a few days then. . ." He reached into his pocket with an olive toned hand, pulling out two rectangular pieces of paper. "We'll head off to an airport and go to Greece." (Y/n)'s eyes widened and her lips parted slightly as she took the flight tickets from his hands, reading over them to check that they were genuine. "Let's see the world together. I'm sure we could use the money your father's given you to go elsewhere once we've planned where we're going to go next." He smiled softly as tears pricked her eyes.

"I've missed you, I've missed you so much, Ezio." She spoke as she gripped the leather of his black jacket and pressed herself against his warm figure.

"Let's go get you ready." He spoke as he laced his hand with hers, leading her to her room.

—————

"Yes, I'm safe." The (h/c) haired young woman spoke down the phone. She sat in the shade of an umbrella on a beach in Zakynthos. "Ezio paid for the tickets. We'll both be coming to Paris in two weeks." The young woman assures her worried mother. The female parent let out a sigh of relief, her eyes closing as she registered the fact her daughter was safe.

"Is he there with you now?" She questioned. (Y/n) thought about her answer before pulling on the male's hand who was laid beside her. He sat up, now on camera for her mother to see. "Look after her for me, ok?" The mother spoke up. A softness resided in her eyes as she said this, knowing this may well be the man she one day gave her daughter away to.

"I'll take good care of her, Signora Charlotte, don't worry yourself." He reassured the concerned mother as he wrapped an arm around his lover's waist.

"Bye, mum." (Y/n) smiled, "I love you." With that said, she hung up. Ezio buried his face against his girlfriend's neck that was already peppered with small bruises from their time together. She wore a tight fitted maroon swimsuit with a lace-up front. She hummed against the feeling of his breath on her neck. "It's gorgeous here." She spoke up, gazing out at the ocean. A smile tugged at her lips, "I can't wait to see the rest of the world with you." She spoke with excitement.

"No matter what your father says about me, in the end, it's you and I, bella." He spoke as he shared her view of a vast ocean. His words echoed in her head as she grinned at the prospect.

'In the end, it's him and I.'


	3. Under the Spotlight (Jacob)

With the target's intercepted letter in Evie's hands, the four assassins read listened intently as the eldest Frye twin read out the details of the document. Henry sat at the desk chair while Jacob was laid across the sofa and (Y/n) was seated on the corner of the desk, her head resting on her hand that was propped on her right knee.

"He'll be attending the theatre at 8 o'clock. Mister Harbours will be surrounded by people so we'll need to lure him away from the crowd. We need a bait." The brunette assassin began to formulate a plan in her mind. The three assassins all turned their heads slowly to (Y/n). The twenty-year-old's (e/c) orbs burst open as she promptly straightened her back, putting her right hand over her chest with a look of pure shock over her face.

"What?! No! Why me?!" The (h/c) haired female exclaimed, leaning back ever so slightly, knocking her (h/l)-length tresses from her shoulder to behind her back. The lower half of her silky locks hung loosely while the upper half of her hair was styled into a high, feathery, bun - accented by braids - with a few stray strands lingering around her face.

"You're young, pretty and have the talents to catch his eye on stage. We have ties to the theatre. Once you've got Mister Harbours's attention, you can lure him away and assassinate him to find out what the Templar's next move is. Jacob and Evie will quietly take out the Blighter guards to make your escape easier." Henry explained. (Y/n) looked at each fellow assassin, in turn, raising a (h/c) brow as she sent questioning glances to each person in the train carriage. Eventually, she realised that she would not be able to work her way out of this one. Jumping down from the desk with a huff, the (s/t)-skinned female headed for her carriage.

"I'll write out the music sheets for the orchestra and find something to wear. . ." She spoke as she crossed over the layered carpeted floor, "Sometimes I feel like you just make me do this because I'm the youngest." (Y/n) grumbled as she went to cross the carriages.

"No, you were chased by fifteen Blighters at once last week as a distraction because you're the youngest though." Jacob chuckled quietly to himself.

"I heard that, Frye!" The younger assassin called as she continued to make her way through the train.

—————

"I bloody hate this thing." The woman groaned as she cautiously hopped over the train couple. The (s/t)-skinned assassin entered the train carriage wearing an elegant wine red dress. Its velvet torso hugged her body tightly and attached to flared out sleeves that revealed her shoulders. The skirt of the dress was made of silk and cascaded around her figure like a ruby waterfall. Her silk sleeves flowed like a river from the cuffed sleeves on her forearms, hanging low over her hands - hidden blades were concealed there. "I feel too vulnerable without my steel-reinforced corset - this dress itself if bloodier heavier than the corset if I'm being honest. It's too itchy and it makes it difficult to run. I'm just bloody lucky I have a narrow enough waist that I don't have to tighten this thing any more than I already have." The (e/c) eyed assassin huffed, slapping a handful of organised papers down onto the desk.

"You seem delighted to be in such attire, Miss (L/n)." Jacob teased.

"Shut it, or I'll have your head while you sleep, Frye." The young woman warned.

" 'Ocean Eyes' ?" Evie raised a brow as she flipped through the papers (Y/n) had dropped onto the desk.

"A song that I wrote when I was seventeen - if I'm to play the part of a simple performer than I shall need something to perform, no?" The (s/t)-skinned woman replied as she sat down at the desk chair, shifting uncomfortably in her dress. "I'm able to thank my father for a few things; painting and composing being a few of them - it can make infiltrations such as these much easier."

"What about the money?" Henry suggested.

"Money not earned by myself; I never cared for my father's riches and would have preferred a life in the slums of Whitechapel than in that dollhouse of a manor." The (h/c) haired female hardened her tone.

"Why a dollhouse?" Evie questioned (Y/n)'s choice of words.

"Everyone assumes a dollhouse to be filled with a perfectly functioning and ideal living family, do they not? That means anything can happen behind closed doors." The (e/c) eyed female explained, "It's a realisation I came to when I was young. It was my way of processing what was going on and I suppose it stuck with me. . . Like many other things. . . But I have told you all of my past before thus there is no need to retell old tales. That's behind me now." The woman stood from her seat, realising she may have made her fellow assassins uncomfortable.

Evie looked at (Y/n) with pitiful eyes as the younger woman dusted down her dress. Meanwhile, Henry averted his gaze elsewhere and Jacob found his hand gripping the arm of the sofa. He was always passionate about children being able to have a happy childhood; hence why he put so much dedication into liberating children from factories. (Y/n) had to hide behind a mask for almost eight years of her life and even today has to hide her pain. She had been through so much at such a young age. At least things were better for her now.

"I want a pint before I go." The woman spoke up, "Care to join me, Jacob?" The younger assassin offered, knowing of the younger Frye's love for drink.

"I don't see why not." He spoke, pushing himself upwards as he followed (Y/n) to the carriage where the alcohol was kept.

A Rook offered to pour a pint each for the assassins as they took their seats. Once the drinks were placed on the table, the Rook was thanked before (Y/n) briskly brought the glass of beer to her lips.

"What?" (Y/n) raised a brow, noticing the odd gaze Jacob was giving her.

"Are you sure you can pull off this infiltration?" The younger Frye raised a brow, "You're dressed like a lady but you're certainly not acting the part." A smile tugged at the woman's (s/t) lips as she straightened her posture and gracefully plucked up her glass in her fingers.

"You mean you are uncertain I cannot be the lady my father trained me to for almost all my life?" She quizzed as she took a sip of her beverage, making it seem as though she were drinking champagne and not cheap beer. Chucking at his colleague's behaviour, he raised his glass to the assassin a little.

"You never cease to surprise me, (Y/n)." He spoke cheerily, taking a gulp of the drink, "Stay that way."

—————

"I'll lure the target to the dressing room backstage. I'll take him out quietly and give you a signal once it's done." The youngest assassin spoke up as their carriage came to a halt outside the theatre. The (h/c) haired young woman gracefully stepped out of the carriage - with assistance from Jacob seeing as her movements were rather restricted by her dress. As she walked, the twins could see that she had put up an impeccable persona - the one she had spent her childhood being forced into. The woman's wine red dress swayed with her form as she went to walk directly through the door. A bulky guard put his arm out to stop her.

"There's a line, Miss." He spoke, clearly, enough people had attempted the same stunt that evening.

"Oh, I am not a guest, Sir, I am performing. Check your list for a Miss Anne Willows." (Y/n) had entered under a fake name; she had made quite the public figure of herself when going along with Jacob's reckless methods of carrying out missions. The (h/c) haired female spoke with a regal voice; even the most simpleminded being would be able to tell she was of a noble family by hearing her tone and seeing how she held herself. Even if she were in rags, she'd be convincing as an upper-class woman. The guard ran his finger along the long list of names before stopping as his brown eyes looked down at the young woman.

"My apologies Miss." He dipped his head in apology before glancing at the twins behind her, "And these two are?" He questioned.

"Oh they won't be on your list - they're assistants. You do not expect me to venture to the orchestra pit when I am running late, do you? I must greet members of my audience beforehand." She spoke.

Evie had to hide a small smile as she watched the younger assassin work; being able to weave such an intricate and believable story of the spot was an asset to any infiltration and (Y/n) more than ticked the box for such a skill.

"Forgive me again, Miss Willows." The guard spoke, allowing the (e/c) eyed woman and her associates to enter. Leading the twins to a quiet corner, the younger assassin's eyes searched the main theatre. "Evie, I think it's best you take the ground and second floor - Jacob, you take the upper floors and keep your eyes out for my signal, Evie's view will most likely be blocked." The assassin spoke. (Y/n) fought tactically when time was on her side; if not she could be as reckless as the younger of the Frye twins. Thankfully, she was executing the mission without a fault. "I'm going to head backstage now," She placed a thick handful of papers into the eldest twin's hands, "Get these to the orchestra." With that, the (s/t)-skinned female headed to her intended destination.

Politely weaving her way through the audience, making small talk as she went along to hold up her noblewoman persona, (Y/n) eventually found herself backstage.

The assassin felt a hand against her back. Her reflexes screamed at her to whip around and attack but her mind forced her to stay calm as she allowed a fake squeal of surprise to leave her (s/t) lips. Turning around to face the person, (Y/n) found herself face-to-face with the owner.

"Mister Maxwell Roth," She began, a smile painting her lips as she shook his hand. He wore a black and red suit, "it's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for allowing me to perform tonight." She smiled.

"Not a problem, dearie. We needed a replacement after our last warm-up act fell ill." He replied.

"Oh, bless her heart; I hope she recovers quickly." (Y/n) held a hand over her chest, her persona unfaltering. "But truly, thank you. I have not had the chance to sing before an audience for a few years now - I'm considering taking it up again as a regular act. Tonight is just letting myself find if I am up for the job or not myself." She explained.

"Well if you do decide to start singing professionally again, we'd be happy to have you. Make sure you're ready soon, you're up in five minutes." (Y/n) nodded her head as Roth excited to watch the show from the balcony.

Perfect.

The assassin had gained the trust of the guards and now the owner. It couldn't go wrong on her behalf.

Meanwhile, Evie stalked through crowds, being mindful not to make draw too much attention to herself.

However, on the floor above her, Jacob had needed to quickly knock out a guard after being recognised as the leader of The Rooks - running his gang had its pros and cons. By the time, the male Frye had quietly taken out the guards, (Y/n) was at the final chorus of her song.

"No fair. You really know how to make me cry when you give me those ocean eyes. I'm scared. I've never fallen from quite this high, falling into your ocean eyes. Those ocean eyes." The young assassin snag, snagging Jacob's attention. Her vocals were loud enough to echo through the theatre yet they remained angelic as she poured her emotion into the song. The female finished trailing off the final word of the song, taking in a deep breath as the audience broke into applause. Her rosy cheeks flushed as she bowed then left the stage. Jacob was left watching where she had stood, finding part of himself captivated by her voice, like a sailor drawn to a mermaid's song.

The woman in deep red stepped down from the left wing to lock eyes with her target. Casually making her way towards him, she brushed past him as she walked.

"Oh, my apologies, Sir," she spoke, "I really ought to be more mindful of my surroundings." She apologised, dipped her head.

"There's no need for apologies," the middle-aged man spoke up, "That song of yours was wonderful, Miss. . ."

"Anne." (Y/n) smiled politely.

"Miss Anne, I have never heard such a genre of music yet it was brilliant to be witness to." He spoke.

"Why thank you, I actually had another in mind I wished to perform but Mister Roth insisted the crowd would enjoy that one more." The female forced a realistic expression that made it seem as though an idea had just sprung to mind. "If you appreciate such music, I could show you more." She spoke eagerly, leaning closer as her hand rested over his. Now his mind would begin to wander. That's exactly what the (e/c) eyed female needed.

"Of course, will they allow me backstage?" He spoke.

"If you are accompanied by myself then of course." She smiled as she led him to an isolated dressing room. He entered first, looking around the room while smirking.

"I've been around women long enough to know what you really led me back here for, Miss-" His sentence was cut short as a blade embedded itself into the weak tissue of the flesh of his neck. He choked on his words as he stumbled backwards into (Y/n)'s arms who crouched, laying his corpse down gently. The assassin found herself in a white plain where the tiled floor slowly shifted up and down within a five-meter radius of her. The rest of the world dissolved at a sheer drop with small mounds of other tiled areas were able to be seen off in the distance.

"Do not be afraid, Mister Harbours." She spoke as he spluttered.

"So you're an assassin; you played your part well. But you have not stopped us Templars yet. We know of another piece of Eden - though I'm sure we are so close to obtaining it by now that you won't know what hit you once we have control over the pocket watch." (Y/n) smiled smugly yet softly.

"Thank you, Sir. I was unaware of your progress." She spoke before the life left the male's brown eyes. Her wolrd fizzled out to return to normal.

Sitting in the dressing room chair, the female reached up into her skirts for two tiny wooden hooks on silk string. Once she had reached them, she pulled them up and attached them to tiny loops at the base of her corset. Now, the front of her dress was bundled up to a shorter front skirt, reaching mid-thighs, to reveal her regular boots and a pair of black lace tights; running would certainly be a lot easier without having to worry about tripping over her skirts. Bursting out of the dressing room, the (h/c) haired female stood to the side of the stage, raising her right arm. A few men in the crowd noticed her and whistled at the new adaptation of her dress. Once (Y/n)'s (e/c) eyes met those of the Frye twins, Jacob pulled out a gun, shooting it into the air three times. Now that the audience were fleeing in a panic, the three assassins could disappear into the chaos, making their escape much easier.

"Looking rather scandalous, aren't we, Miss (L/n)?" Jacob smirked as he ran alongside her, Evie being a few paces ahead.

"Shut up so we can get back to the train and I'm not running around dressed like a whore with riches!" She snapped as she pressed her speed. Jacob chuckled as he ran to catch up with his fellow assassins.

—————

(Y/n) was not hesitant is stripping off her dress as soon as they returned back to the train. She now wore her usual outfit; consisting of a light grey cotton drawstring blouse, a juniper green secretly armoured corset, dark grey trousers and knee-high brown leather boots. The young woman briskly took herself to the carriage where most of the alcohol was, picking up a bottle of beer, she held it against the edge of the table before slamming her fist down on the top, knocking off the metallic lid before bringing the bottle to her lips and crashing on the padded chair of the carriage's booth.

"Alright there, love?" Jacob spoke up, his signature smirk painting his lips as he sat opposite the younger woman, his own bottle of beer clutched in his right hand.

"No." (Y/n) huffed as she let her head fall upon her arms on the table.

"What's bothering you?" Jacob spoke up, (Y/n) shifted her head so that she could look up at him through her thick lashes.

"My ribs are killing me. Jesus, just try doing what I did in that corset. I've got all its lines embedded into me." She tutted, taking yet another sip of beer.

"I've had to endure Evie's complaints about fashion before. What's really bothering you?" The male quizzed. (Y/n) sighed as a thick sadness glazed over her (e/c) eyes. The whole atmosphere dropped.

"It really was the corset bothering me. I had to put it on tighter than the one I'm wearing now because it's not custom made. It pressed my scar tissue back into my body and it still really stings." The (h/c) haired assassin took yet another sip of her drink, this one more elongated. (Y/n) had told Jacob of her past before, he knew her pain and how much she despised the fact she was forced to carry a piece of her abuse on her back at all times; the scars that had been left with her father's whip. "It just reminds me that he'll always have some control over my life, even if he's dead." Her voice broke slightly as she buried her face in the bend of her arm, her other hand being forced out from under her so she was not uncomfortable.

Jacob gently took her dainty hand in his much larger one, running circles onto the back of it with his thumb.

"Alright, look," Jacob began, knowing he was going to have to take on a softer persona, "You are so much more than he saw you as. You're older now, stronger, bloody gorgeous, powerful, god I could go on for hours." By now, (Y/n) was looking up at the male with tearful eyes. "Don't belittle yourself. He may have hurt you but he can't anymore. You endured so much and it turned you into who you are today. Think about it: had you not been made to live with him, you would never have met the man who trained you and you wouldn't be an assassin. You'd never have come to London." Jacob spoke. (Y/n) smiled softly.

"I suppose you're right." The (s/t)-skinned female spoke, sitting up a little, "We would never have met." (Y/n) looked down at her hand that Jacob was still holding. He went to pull away but the woman tightened her grip. "No, I like this." She smiled softly up at him, a small blush dusting her cheeks. Jacob's teeth grazed his lower lip before he locked his eyes onto their intertwined hands.

"When are we going to do something about this?" He sighed, (Y/n) looked up at him.

"Do something about what?" She quizzed.

"This unspoken thing between us. It's no secret that we both like each other. It'll always be nights like these when we're both drinking. You'll always use alcohol as an excuse, by morning you're leaving my carriage to go back to your one, going on to act like nothing happened and. . . I can't help but feel tormented, (Y/n). I want to talk about this before you can use the beer as a cover up again." He stated. The younger woman bit her lower lip as she thought of the best way to word her answer.

"I've told you before, Jacob, I'm scared of love - terrified even; I'be had my emotions manipulated and used against me before, you know that. I'm sorry that I've made you feel used - I should have thought about that but I was only thinking of myself. I'm truly sorry for that. I just. . . I just don't know if I'm ready to try again. My first relationship was emotional abuse where he wouldn't let me leave, my second was just a broken heart. . . Life's decided to throw a big uppercut my way for whatever reason and it's trained me to learn how to become cautious and dodge whatever I'm scared of. I've always used the alcohol as an excuse because it numbs my senses, puts my anxiety to sleep and I can give in to that part of me that wants you for a period of time. When it wears off, I'm hungover and I've got my guard up; constantly on edge all over again. I've trained myself to be this way without realising and I didn't realise I was hurting you. I can't express enough how sorry I am, Jacob." His eyes met hers as she quickly averted her gaze, ashamed she had been playing with his emotions. He stood up from his seat, leaving his drink on the table.

"C'mere." Offering a hand out to (Y/n), she took it, getting to her feet. Gently placing his hands on her hips, Jacob pulled the (s/t)-skinned female closer into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his torso, taking in a shaky breath.

"I'm so sorry to have made you feel this way, I really am." She spoke softly, Jacob leaned back a little so he could look down at the female who stood a head shorter than him. He smiled softly before bending down to hook his left arm behind her back while his right rested at the backs of her knees, sweeping her off her feet so he held her bridal style before taking her off to his carriage. The few Rooks in the carriage spotted the two assassins, letting out a few teasing whistles. Jacob laughed lightly at what the gang members were expecting the two to get up to while (Y/n) buried her face into the male's chest out of embarrassment at the misinterpretation. The male collapsed onto his bed with (Y/n) laying on top of him.

"Why don't we start now? No more pretending, no more building up future regrets of the chances we didn't take. You don't need to be afraid of love anymore, sweetheart, it's a mystery how any man could ever dream of hurting you to me. I'd never hurt you." He spoke against her hair as he ran his hands through her silky tresses. The (s/t)-skinned woman smiled as she took in his scent.

"I don't see why not. But let's not take this too fast. . . I don't want to take this for granted." She smiled softly as she tilted her head to look up at him, pushing herself up so she could peck his lips. She hurriedly stood up from the bed. The brown haired male wondered why she would stand after such a conversation only to realise she was shrugging off her clothing. Jacob began to do the same as he stripped down to only his trousers, letting his clothes hang over the footboard of the bed. Meanwhile, (Y/n) was unweaving her corset chord. The article of clothing fell to the floor with a slight clang. Jacob chuckled.

"Free of your armour then?" He joked. (Y/n) looked at him over her shoulder as she began pulling off her boots and trousers.

"It's actually reinforced with thin sheets of iron with spaces between so it fits my figure. It's stopped me from getting stabbed and shot in the past so it really is my armour in all honesty." She smiled as she finished unfastening the buckles on her blouse straps. The light grey fabric dropped to He floor and she speedily removed her hairpins, letting the upper half of her (h/c) tresses cascade down her back to her (h/l). The (s/t)-skinned female was left in her pants and small undershirt that was a tight piece of fabric that only just covered her breasts. Her hair was pulled over her right shoulder, revealing thick white scars and a silhouette tattoo of swifts flying up her neck and out of a small open birdcage on her left shoulder blade. (Y/n) had explained that the tattoo was to represent how she was now free as a person the same was a bird is free from a cage. Many a time had Jacob seen her scars, but now that they were not in a heated moment and they were both sober, it was more shocking than before. Though, he held up a straight face. She looked back over her shoulder to him with a teasing look in her eyes before the male lunged forwards, locking his arms around her waist and pulling her back into him as he sat with her between his legs, her back pressed against his chest as she giggled.

"It's cold." She scrunched her nose childishly as she pulled a blanket over her legs. The female assassin had a few scars and bruises here and there from previous work but nothing as severe and noticeable as her back. Jacob chuckled at her, "What?" She raised a brow, leaning the back of her head against his shoulder so she could look at him.

"You can be really childish at times." He smirked as his hands ran down the tops of her thighs.

"At least I'm not reckless - at most times." She retorted cheekily.

"Since when am I reckless?" He spoke as he leaned back against the headboard, bringing the slightly younger woman with him.

"Since you played shoot the bottle while utterly wasted, got into too many fights, strayed from plans on missions and derailed a train back in Crawley - yes, Evie told me about that. Oh! And let's not forget about you collapsing London's economy when you stopped Twopenny and you halted all of London's medicinal production." The rosy-skinned woman listed.

"Well, Henry's told me all about what the brotherhood have known you to do. Let's start with having to run back to France after you became a prime suspect in your father's murder. I also heard about all the scraps you got into back in Aylesbury and the fact you've burned five workhouses to the ground. Also, let's not forget that I'm not the one who decided runaway trains would make missions more exciting. You have your days too, Miss (L/n)." The male smirked.

"I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about." She giggled. Though, she grew nervous that Jacob had noticed the small glances to his lips that she stole as he spoke. Smiling at her childlike behaviour, Jacob buried his face in her neck, his nose brushing against her jaw.

"I've always enjoyed watching you work, really." Jacob began as his lips gently grazed over her skin, "You kill people like a ballerina." He chuckled.

"Like a what?" (Y/n) burst out in a fit of giggles at the odd simile.

"No, no," Jacob laughed, "I mean you always kill people gracefully. You make it seem like an art and not well. . . Assassination." He explained.

"I see. . ." (Y/n) smiled as she leaned back against him, "So you're saying I'm hot when I'm ending lives and breaking bones?" She smirked.

"You look hot no matter what you do, love." He spoke as his breath lingered achingly slow across (Y/n)'s shoulder.

"Are you going to stop teasing me yet?" The (s/t)-skinned woman raised a (h/c) brow, causing Jacob's right arm to tighten around her waist while the other ran along her thigh. He smirked against her skin before peppering her flesh in light kisses. (Y/n) let out a small hum as she tilt d her head to the side, giving the male easier access to her flesh as she pushed herself up against him. Gradually, Jacob's kisses grew feverish and from time to time he would nibble at her flesh.

Her childlike personality taking over, (Y/n) turned herself around so she was laid on Jacob before giving him a chaste kiss.

"How about we continue this in the morning?" She suggested, resting her head upon his chest as she snuggled up against him, hooking a thigh over his waist.

"You know how to keep a man on the edge, (Y/n)." He spoke out as he began petting her hair softly.

"I just don't want to rush into this and have it crash in around us. I don't want to lose someone again." She spoke, her words beginning to slur as she found herself drifting into unconsciousness.


	4. Highwaywoman (Jacob)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The golden age of highway men was in the 1600's, I know, but a few carried on into the Victorian era. What a perfect cover for an assassin who wants to fight without alerting her enemies of what's really looming over them.

The uprising of the Rooks was all people on the street ever spoke about. Some despised them while others were relieved they had come along to put the Blighters in their place. Even nobility had been influenced by the gang rivalries of London. However, those in the upper class now had a bigger problem than their child labourers being liberated and slowing the production of goods.

A highwayman.

More specifically; a highwaywoman.

She would strike the outskirts of London while nobility travelled in and out of the city, taking their riches and often their lives too.

She was ruthless, lethal, calculating and she was searching. She was on her own quest and knew eventually the Templars would resort to hiding what she was looking for in a nearby town if the Frye twins got too close for comfort.

But she was now gaining unwanted attention from the upper class. A few people had seen the masked woman dressed in odd robes empty chests of money or jewellery into the slums of Whitechapel for the poor to take. She would not keep what she did not need.

But now the highwaywoman had brushed shoulders with a very powerful woman in London.

Pearl Attaway.

Who now wanted the mysterious woman gone. Conveniently, she had just the man for the job. She had recently tricked Jacob Frye into assisting the Templars and would now use him once more to eliminate this menace to the upper class.

The light-grey-haired woman sat in a luscious carriage, a glass of champagne in her hand and an exquisite purple dress covering her figure while a young man with brown locks under a top hat held the same glass of champagne while assassin robes covered his toned figure.

"I cannot tell if she will take the bait or not. She attacks without any pattern and is incredibly calculating. Be sure to be on your guard; I suspect she is more than a mere highwaywoman. I'm quite surprised that she did not kill my associate yesterday night myself." Pearl spoke up. "Either way, she is a threat to London. The days of highwaymen are over and someone must show her why."

"I'll get rid of her for you." Jacob nodded his head once sincerely.

"Thank you, Mr Frye." Pearl smiled, an undertone of smugness to it. The carriage continued on a path to the outskirts of London in the cool English night. The plan was to make it seem as though Pearl was the only one in the carriage; when she was asked to step out by the highwaywoman, Pearl would act stubborn to lure her closer. Once she was in range, Jacob would tackle her, rid her of her weapons and interrogate her.

The ride continued in silence until the driver pulled the carriage to an abrupt halt.

"Step away from the carriage and ask your passengers to get out where I can see them." A muffled woman's voice spoke up.

The young driver shakily opened the carriage door before speaking.

"M-Miss Attaway, it's the highwaywoman." The blonde Male stuttered.

Pearl flashed a smirk at Jacob before stepping out of the carriage, her hands raised. Her brown eyes scanned the woman standing in front of her, revolver pointed to her head.

The young woman wore basil green assassin robes, accented with golden embroidery on the hood and sleeve cuffs. It was lined with creme American-Burlesque styled ruffles and exposed her shoulders. Dark grey trousers covered her legs while a thick layered belt held guns weapon pouches. Brown leather boots reached her knees.

She did not have the aura of a bandit; instead, she stood with the elegance of a noblewoman and the intelligence of a scholar. She clocked the gun before speaking through (s/t) lips.

"Stand and deliver: your money or your life." She spoke with a smirk.

"You can take my life for I refuse to hand over my riches willingly," Pearl spoke, holding her chin high. The highwaywoman took a step closer. Beneath the shadow of her peaked good, Pearl could see a masquerade-style mask covering the upper half of her face, (e/c) eyes and a few stray (h/c) locks. As the highwaywoman got closer, she was able to make out Pearl's facial features.

"Attaway." She growled, her voice dripping with venom, "I should have killed you when I had the chance. Not that you'll remember me. No one seemed to have done so once I disappeared. But you never cared about anyone other than yourself and helped keep my father's little secret hidden." By now, the young woman had her revolver pointed to Pearl's throat. "Give me one reason to not kill you right here and now." The young woman narrowed her (e/c) eyes under the mask.

"Because I have a bodyguard," Pearl smirked. The highwaywoman's face dropped for a second before she felt an impact on her left side and was knocked to the dirt. Letting out a groan, the young woman went to push herself to her feet, only to have a foot on her chest stop her from doing so.

"Good evening, Miss," Jacob spoke up, looking down at the young woman.

"What a stupid move Frye, if I wanted, I could slice your Achilles' tendon and you won't be walking for weeks." The (s/t)-skinned woman spoke up. Her hood had fallen backwards off her head, revealing (h/c) locks that were fashioned into a half-crown fishtail that joined a feathery bun at the back of her head.

"Who are you?" Jacob questioned, raising a brow.

"I'm like you Jacob. Which leads to my question: what on Earth are you doing helping a bloody Templar?!" She exclaimed. Jacob's head turned in Pearl's direction who was now looking nervous.

"What are you talking about? How do you know me?" He looked back into the highwaywoman's direction. Her eyes were on Pearl, however, who was slowly making her way back into the carriage while the driver sat in the seat on her demand.

"Listen, I'll explain everything in a moment. All you need to know is I'm part of the brotherhood and I'm here to help. But you need to stop Pearl now! She's going to get away!" She exclaimed. Jacob faltered. Should he let this possible criminal escape to see if her story was true or should he follow out the plan?

"Sod it, I've never been one for plans anyway." The young man sighed before running back over to the carriage. The driver flicked the reigns and the horses broke out in a gallop. The young assassin did his best to keep up but was no match for the speed of the horses. Eventually, he realised this and turned back. The young woman still wore her elegant mask but her hood was now down, revealing luscious silky locks that anyone would want to run their fingers through.

"If Pearl is the bad one here, then explain why you've killed innocents of nobility," Jacob spoke, his brows furrowed.

"I was raised among the nobility, Mr Frye, I know the ugliness they hide deep in their hearts and all their twisted desires. The high life is not as exquisite as it may appear. It's quite the delusion. I know many of the people I have killed were murderers themselves if not those oppressing the lower class. I've led both lives and can gladly say I prefer the life of a common woman than that of a noble one.

"So, who exactly are you?" Jacob questioned as he neared the elegant woman.

"I'm an assassin who works in many branches of the brotherhood, typically the English one. I come and go as they demand. However, I've been called over from France to assist conquering London and returning it to the people. Yours and your sister's work truly is admirable, Mr Frye. Anyways, I'm chasing up a lead that I was actually hoping would be a wild goose chase given the impact it could have. However, the letter I stole from a Templar exiting London last week seems to prove why I'm here to be a reality. They believe they have located yet another piece of Eden that was stolen from England by the French during King Charles I's reign." She explained.

"I asked who you were, while why you're here is good, I'd rather a name." He flashed his signature smirk.

A playful smile tugged at the young woman's lips, "I've been called many a name, Mr Frye; daughter, waste, whore, bitch, wife, assassin, killer, murderess. . . You're free to take your pick."

"How about I get a name or I simply call you love?" He raised a brow. The (h/c) haired woman let out a soft giggle before pulling at the black ribbon of her mask, letting it fall to her hands to reveal goddess-like beauty.

"(Y/n) (M/n) (L/n). A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Frye." She gave a curtsy, a playful smile on her lips.

"Jacob Ethan Frye. The pleasure is all mine, madam." He mimicked. She rolled her (e/c) eyes, even that was a movement of pure elegance.

"So, now that the highwaywoman cover has been blown seeing as Pearl would have figured out I'm Oliver (L/n)'s daughter by now, I suppose I have no choice but to join you, your sister and Mr Green in your little train hideout." She spoke as they began walking back to London.

Jacob flashed a smirk, "You're quite the stalker, aren't you?" He raised a scarred brow. She covered a small laugh with her hand.

"It's wise to know both your enemies and allies inside out, is it not?" She spoke, "That way you cannot be surprised nor can you be betrayed."

"You seem like a cautious woman." Jacob pointed out. (Y/n) let out a small sigh before lowering her head.

"Yeah, I suppose I've been let down enough for it to become second nature to trust no one." She sighed before a small smile tugged at her lips. "Why don't we go for a drink before heading back? We can give Pearl enough time to give the Templars more reason to fear the assassins and get to know each other while we're at it. In the French and Italian brotherhoods, they've valued putting extra time towards getting to know your allies for centuries. Once you know your team, you can function like clockwork and get the job done immaculately." She spoke.

"I don't see why not. You like beer?" He questioned. The young woman scoffed.

"Who doesn't?" She replied. An understandable enough answer. The two of them headed off to the nearest pub, their boots clicking against the cobbled road as they headed back into London.


End file.
